


Any Colour You Like (as long as it's pink)

by jargonelle



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 18:25:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1909167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jargonelle/pseuds/jargonelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It felt like going undercover, only better." Lady Penelope-fic.</p>
<p>Written for the prompt 'gender play'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Any Colour You Like (as long as it's pink)

It felt like going undercover, only better. It was still a disguise of course, and one particularly well-suited to hiding her from her fame, but it was not one she would ever don in public. Penelope was known for being many things, but this was something that stayed within her grounds. She had no secrets from Parker, but she had made it explicitly clear that this was not a matter to be discussed, and when she was indulging herself, she was only to be interrupted in the direst of circumstances.

She could not wear pink all the time, after all.

~~

When she had first moved back from India under Miss Pemberton's governance, she had taken comfort in the wardrobes her parents had left behind. She would curl up in her mother's jewels and her father's morning jacket and pretend that they were dining in London and would be back with her before dawn.

At school, she had been the Olivia to Henrietta's Viola, the princess to Georgina's prince. She was never the one in breeches and a waistcoat, and for that she had been glad. She had been less accomplished then, and afraid of what her face would show if she stepped onto the stage dressed as a man. 

~~

She liked crisp shirts with broad shoulders and long sleeves, and pressed trousers in charcoal grey. She liked heavy jackets and heavier shoes, with thick woollen socks and plain boxer shorts.

She liked to twist her hair up under a hat and watch herself move across the floor in a mirror. She did not use her normal gait, nor her strut of the catwalk, but instead adopted a wider, looser stride, used her chest rather than her hips to guide her. Her legs were smooth and shaved beneath the fabric and every step was a tease.

~~

It was fun to make an entrance.

Ten identical suitcases matched her perfectly co-ordinated outfit. "A woman shouldn't have to go without her little luxuries," she said to Parker.

She came back to the Lodge at least once a year, and they had furnished the suite to her usual specifications. A fresh pot of tea was on the dining table, and there were carnations in every vase.

Tin-Tin was to be joining her the following afternoon, and Penelope was looking forward to it. The young woman had little in the way of female company and Penelope always made sure to spoil her. For all that Tracy Island was a paradise, it could not provide her with everything. 

Nowhere to ski, for a start.

~~

She liked pink.

It was her calling card, her signature style.

It meant that when she needed to she could abandon it and have no one recognise her.

The Tracys wore blue. 

She wondered if it was the same for them.

~~

She did not know whether it was because he found her attractive and wanted to impress her, or if it was because she was rich enough to be one of them, or if he thought her so young as to be easily manipulated, but whatever the reason, Lionel finished his wine and told her his secrets.

Whatever worked.

The extra splash of perfume might not have made the difference, but it was best to be prepared. It was another tool, like the pistol in her handbag, and the microphone sewn into her dress. She could have had Parker threaten him, of course, but sometimes the cleanest approach was best. 

He poured himself another drink, and Penelope neatly excused herself.

She would not be back.

~~

When she had been a girl, she had not dreamt of being a boy, and now she was a woman she had no desire to be a man. She liked being Penelope. 

She stared at her reflection and slowly started stripping away her polished exterior until all that was left was her body, a mass of skin and hair. She redressed it for her own amusement, turning her limbs this way and that so as to get a better view. She knew how to stand, how to pose, how to fake it. She knew how to wear her own face. 

It was getting late. 

She put on her nightgown, personally designed by François, brushed her hair, and retired to bed. She was occasionally roused in the middle of the night and first impressions were important, no matter the time.

The shirt, tie, jacket and trousers were hidden out of sight, where they belonged.

It was no one’s business but hers.


End file.
